Royal Misadventures
by Dark and Chaotic
Summary: Yet another adventure for the blonde bimbo genius. In this one Fiona Johnson, somehow ends up in Ostagar, a few months before the fabled battle doomed to fail.She wields her wits and her tongue in a crazy attempt to thwart the Blight, blonde bimbo style.


_**Disclaimer: This story is fan fiction and I do not own anything save for my own characters and the concept for this. Dragon Age belongs to Bioware…though I wish Loghain belonged to me ^.^**_

Prologue

Rotten vegetation, dampness and that disgusting sweet smell of decomposing flesh had been invading her senses for the past three hours. Several times she had stumbled upon small groups of dead…things. They were humanoid in shape but despite how disfigured they looked she knew well enough the signs of decomposition and most of these groups were less than an hour dead. These creatures themselves varied in size and she could even distinguish different type of armor on some. Whatever these creatures were and whatever this place was…it gave her that horrid sense of wrongness, of Déjà vu. The swamp was not exactly a swamp either. It was more like a jungle, if only with a lot colder climate and the distinctive chill of the temperate climate, one that could easily be felt in the perpetual shade of the swamp's lowest levels.

Cunning azure orbs darted about, trying to distinguish one shape of the other, trying to find something to orientate herself. She knew not the direction she was going in. The sky, from the few glimpses she had managed to steal, was cloudy and gray and there was no way for her to determine her direction. She hadn't anything of use that she could fashion into a make-shift compass. All she had was the thin pink blouse and the pair of jeans she was wearing, and the short white socks and sneakers on her feet. She hadn't even a tie to keep her long wavy blonde hair from her eyes. And that drove her nuts. She pushed away a stray golden lock from her face with annoyance. Indeed, she was in a pissy mood. Usually, she at least had something in her hands to be ready for whatever disaster, real or fictional, would afflict her and her friends. But right now all she had was her wit and her two hands.

Grudgingly, she carefully took a longsword and with a grimace washed off in the water that seemed to be everywhere. The grimace persisted at the thought of how dirty and muddy the water was and she added a shiver down her spine when her thoughts ran over all those diseases that could afflict her at any given moment. The blade was now somewhat washed and the blonde girl felt somewhat more secure. Now she had a tool and she could defend herself in case an animal... or some of these creatures… attack her.

Maybe it was these dreadful thoughts that forced her into an unusual stance of stealthiness. She was fully alert and both her eyes and ears were trained to the slimmest of rustling of leaves or cracked branches. Anything else apart from her immediate surroundings was pushed to the back of her mind. Paranoia was threatening to explode at any given moment, hysteria was fighting with complete terror and the sense of helplessness was driving a knife through her rapidly thumping heart. She could see herself looking like a wild, cornered animal. She went on through the swamp-like vegetation and some hour later she stumbled on what she hoped was an old path or an ancient dirt road or something. It was certainly lacking in any form of vegetation and while it had no signs of being recently used she knew that in such an environment every millimeter of free space was fought for by the different type of ground vegetation. Another possibility was for this to be some sort of old river bed but judging by the humidity around her and how the water seemed to be everywhere, she doubted that.

For a moment she stopped and took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the musky swamp air, and what seemed to be the miniscule hint of burning ashes. There was a slight breeze blowing her way, and that little hint of smoke made her hope for some form of civilization to be nearby. Smoke meant burning wood. And in this environment, starting a fire would be no small feat. Armed with that knowledge, the blonde sped forward.

**888**

There were a total of ten Hurlocks and three Genlocks among their group. The Emissary had told them to build a camp here for the time being. Two Hurlocks and one Genlock had gone to find some game, or possibly some humans, for dinner. The tall, skinny Hurlock with a scar running down across his left eye was one of the small hunting party. This one was partial to that Hurlock in particular. They had come from the same Broodmother and have been in the same group ever since. They were also the only two surviving Hurlocks from that batch from their Broodmother. This one grunted and continued to play with the lights cast off from the camp fire onto his Sword. He liked how his blade reflected the light so he kept it clean with whatever he got his hands on. Sometimes those things were rags he'd rip off from the people they'd killed.

There was some form of commotion and this one looked up to see the small hunting party returning. The one with scar was there as well and this one felt relieved. The humans who had gathered at the old ruins were picking them off as they were, in such small groups. This one always worried about losing the one with the scar across the right eye. This one would feel greatly saddened if that happened.

The small hunting party had come back with the ravaged remains of several wolves, a small bear and a kicking and screaming human woman which had been securely tied up and then promptly placed on the scarred one's shoulders. Her shouting was annoying and finally the Emissary silenced her with a quick demonstration of fire elemental magic. Her big blue eyes were staring at the Emissary with shock and awe at the same time and soon enough she huddled as much as she could in her roped state closer to the tree stump where the scarred one had left her.

She would live and she would then become a Broodmother. But right now they could not afford to feed her with their own. Their number was dangerously low as it was and they had 3 more days before they could return to the main forces. Their mission was like that of the other scouting parties- find out what the humans at the ruins were up to. There were wardens as well but so far none had ventured into the Korcari wilds to deal with the scouting teams. But even the ordinary humans posed danger.

This one looked at the blonde young woman who was currently carefully examining her surroundings. She was scared and she knew there was no way out, but she hadn't given up. Her eyes were evaluating things like distance and various objects they had set about their small camp. He knew that kind of look. Their Emissary had the same when he lead them through the wilds. This one wondered idly if she'd make a good, strong Broodmother. The stronger women always produced stronger Darkspawn. His own Broodmother had been a powerful warrior, or so much he had managed to gather. It was no wonder this one and the scarred ones had survived as long as they did. Darkspawn tended to listen to their chain of command. That would usually be the Alpha, but their Alpha had died several hours ago and the Emissary had taken the leading position. This one was glad they had such an Emissary. He was scrawny and even a bit short for a Hurlock Emissary, but he was smarter than most, and thus he was older than most. It was his experience that helped them survive so long. And now that their leader, the God of Beauty Urthemiel, had finally awoken this one was certain that he would live longer than most Hurlocks. This one even had an ambition to gather things that were shiny, like his sword when it was clean. So far he had a small chipped Lyrium crystal in his possession and a tiny golden pendant he had once found on a Dwarven baby while feasting on it. The Scarred one also had ambitions of his own. He wanted to travel across the surface world. And since their ambitions did not contradict with each other there was no reason they could not do both. Once their God had lead them into victory, they would pursuit their dreams together, as they had always been since they came to be.

The blonde woman wiggled a bit, grimacing at how tight her ropes were and then she sighed in defeat. This one turned back to watching the lights dancing on the smooth, polished surface of his blade.

**888**

'Your Majesty, you wished to see me?'

'Ah! Duncan! I half-expected you would've been gone already to search for new recruits.'

'Well, King Cailan, your Messenger caught me just as I was about to leave my tent.'

'It is a good thing, as well, Duncan. I wanted to ask you about the Darkspawn. In this book it says…'

Duncan sighed discreetly as he diligently listened to the young king and answered all of his inquiries to the best of his ability, not once giving in to the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance. True, Cailan was a welcome sight for being so actively working with the wardens, but he was also young and eager. His heart was in the right place (for the most part) but he strived for the battles and glories in all those books on Wardens and Blights he had been reading as of lately. He was young and he would learn. Hopefully, with Loghain's guidance and with Anora as his wife, he would turn into a more competent and powerful leader. Right now, however, it was the Queen and Loghain's efforts that had kept the country running for the past five years.

And yet again, another day was lost thanks to Cailan's constant questions. Tomorrow morning, Duncan vowed to himself, he'd have Alistair substitute for the FAQ session with the King, while he, himself, would be out of Ostagar before the crack of dawn. It wasn't that he wanted to be away from the king so badly, it was just that the grey wardens of Ferelden were only a handful and since this was an actual Blight, a few more would never hurt to have around.

The King was trying to convince Loghain to let the Orlesian Grey Wardens in, but the deal with the Orlesian Empress included several hundred of her chevaliers. And Loghain would rather slit his own wrists than let the very people he had shed blood, sweat and tears to get rid of some 30 years ago with the now late King Maric. Things were in an arrested development on that side so Duncan gladly took the opportunity to make another sweep of Ferelden for potential recruits.

The next morning the King of Ferelden found himself preoccupied with Alistair, the Junior Warden (and secretly his bastard half-brother). Poor Cailan was so disappointed to hear that Duncan had left even before the crack of dawn. To the horror of Loghain, Cailan somehow managed to convince himself that it was necessary to go on scouting trips with whoever was on that duty. He wanted to test himself against the Darkspawn, in case something happened and he managed to accidentally do something gloriously heroic. Loghain tried and tried to delay his royal majesty's pursuit of glory and usually Duncan was enough to sate the young King's need to stroke his ego. But now Duncan was gone and Cailan happened to spend an entire morning with his bastard half-brother.

While Loghain did not have any personal opinion of the boy, he knew for one that his Templar training have probably killed any budding ambitions to be anything Royalty related. The reason, however, for Loghain to dislike Alistair was because he was like a happy little puppy that would follow you home. And as both him and his brother Cailan had that boyish charm working for them, it was easy for the Teyrn of Gwaren to imagine how Alistair somehow managed to further enlarge the young king's ego and now he found himself trying not to rip his braids from his scalp, because Cailan was missing and in the company of one of the scout groups, hazardously skipping about and hoping to pull of something heroic.

No, it wasn't Alistair's fault. But the boy had that particular effect on Cailan. Every time the two of them were in the vicinity of each other for more than an hour, Cailan managed to do something that had the poor man's at wits' end. Anora had warned him to at least have the half-brother stay in Denerim for one reason or the other, but Cailan had insisted to have all possible Grey Wardens at hand, in case this really was a Blight. No, there wasn't a rational reason to hate Alistair. But Loghain hated the poor boy's guts. At least he had the satisfaction at seeing him gulp whenever he glared his way. Good. He knew his place.

As for Cailan, he had donned his brilliant golden armor and was now heroically marching with the scouts, hoping to find some Darkspawn for a bit of blood sport. Or so he had gathered from a profusely apologizing Alistair. The King of Ferelden was some good few hours away from camp, with at least 15 soldiers surrounding him and paying more attention to keeping him safe than actually doing their work. It was nice to know the King wanted to take part of their efforts to curb the Darkspawn, but they hoped that he'd learn to wear proper clothing the next time he decides to go a scouting mission.

Suddenly one of the men stopped, the mabari next to him as still as a statue, ears trained in a certain direction in front of them. All of them, including the King remained completely still and silent as they listened for whatever piqued the mabari's interest.

And then Cailan heard it.

It was very soft and faint, but there was the distinct sound of someone… singing? It was a tune he had never heard before, so alien and yet its rhythm was pleasing and the voice singing was so enchanting.

'D'you reckon it a Witch of the Wilds?' one of the soldiers whispered, barely audible.

'I don't know. We have to be careful though. What do you propose, Your Majesty?'

'We will inspect, of course.'

They all talked with hushed voices and they crept closer to the source of the singing and it grew stronger. Now Cailan and the rest could make out some words clearly.

As they got closer, however, the singing stopped. There was a yelp and an arrow flew just a few inches from Cailan's face. The scouting party immediately set out to counter attack. They soon found themselves in a small clearing with a Darkspawn camp. Their numbers were about the same as their own and the scouting party dispatched the Emissary as quickly as possible (which was King Cailan's doing, as he heroically shouted needless commands and then swiftly went to cut the Emissary in two, while it was dealing with two other soldiers).

It was a swift job, and they were left with the spoils of war, namely a tied up fair maiden and whatever treasures the Darkspawn had collected.

The fair maiden, in particular, looked like she had spent several days under the Maker's weather in the company of the Darkspawn. To her credit, Cailan genuinely believed it a miracle. He could hardly wait for her to regain consciousness in order to tell him how she managed such a feat- surviving in a camp with Darkspawn.

Ever so gently, Cailan proded her with one hand, hoping to stir her into consciousness. A slight discoloration at her left temple suggested that one of the mangy monsters had hit her there to silence her. Cailan frowned disapprovingly and ever so slightly traced the bruise with plated fingers. The cold plate touching her bare temple enticed a soft groan from the blonde girl and suddenly two azure sapphire orbs were staring dazedly at the young King. Then she grimaced and pulled at the ropes that were binding her. She was not quite aware of her surroundings yet and she jumped in fright as the king started speaking to her.

'Worry not, fair Maiden for we have saved you from the nefarious clutches of the vile Darkspawn!'

The girl stared silently and disbelievingly at the young king. That was probably the cheesiest thing she had ever heard in her life. And the man before her looked distinctly like a knight in shining armor. She blinked a few times and then suppressed her urge to giggle, cry and scream at the same time.

'Quickly, release the girl, don't just stand there.'

The blonde man with golden armor scowled at the other people ( which she just noticed) and then they scurried about, cutting the ropes and offering her fresh water, which she drank with almost religious reverence. Fresh water after almost three days with nothing but rain to sate her thirst… she was also so hungry…but she had dared not take anything those creatures (the man in golden armor had called them Darkspawn). Some of the meats were either rotten or distinctly human. Spending the time with them, apart from being particularly nerve-wrecking as she found out almost immediately that they ate human flesh, was also incredibly enlightening as to the way they communicated with each other. She became particularly fond of two of the creatures. Considering her own insatiable morbid curiosity, and the fact that she found the kinship between the two creatures endearingly cute, it was no wonder that she often tried to communicate with Scar and Shiny the most.

The two of them, one tall and skinny (Scar) and one shorter and a lot more stouter ( Shiny) had the most interesting and universal for all men bro-ship that had her completely taken with fascination for hours. Apart from the fact that these creatures had a distinct hive mentality, they also retained the utmost basic form of higher mentality. The leader of the group was a particularly ugly rotten monkey face with spike like things on its head. It could also do magic and soon she had been pretty certain that only he was able to produce magic. The rest followed every single one of his commands. Most of the time they communicated with grunts and gestures but the way they understood each other made her think of a deeper, perhaps some kind of mental connection. It was not possible to understand so much from a single grunt, especially not when cave men seemed more sophisticated.

The man, who she finally understood was some kind of king, as the men kept calling him Your Majesty, insisted on carrying her back to their encampment, while dramatically proclaiming how he would make sure she received the finest possible treatment after whatever ordeal she had gone through. He kept going on about defeating the monstrous Darkspawn for a while longer and then turned his attention to asking questions about the Darkspawn.

While she felt that he could've waited a bit with the interrogation, namely after her getting a thorough bath and a fresh pair of clothes, she sympathized with his eagerness. If her best friend in the whole wide world, the ever stoic MJ, had seen him, she would've declared him a man after the blonde's heart. He was probably as much a drama queen as she was herself, and more, and judging by his apparent position in society, Fia vaguely wondered if there was a bit of jealousy creeping in on her. She knew all too well what she would do if she were in charge of a kingdom… but for now she kept more focused on answer the man's questions.

'King Cailan! You have returned!' One of the guards at the gates of the encampment exclaimed and quickly opened them up for him and the scouting party to enter. Immediately the young woman in his arms drew the attention of everyone in the encampment. The blonde girl was handed to one of the soldiers with instructions to take her to the best healer – one Senior Enchanter Wynne of the Circle of Magi.

While the commotion and the usual fussing was going on about the king, Loghain appeared not some 5 minutes later and promptly started interrogating the blonde king with a scowl on his face.

'Cailan, you shouldn't run off like that. You're the king and you shouldn't risk getting killed by Darkspawn.'

'But Loghain! Hadn't I gone that poor maiden would still be in the clutches of the evil-'

'Maiden? Cailan, what are you talking about?'

**888**

The tent she was taken to was rather large and had the distinct scent of herbs and medicine. But it was not that which grabbed her attention. It was the silver-haired old lady that was writing on parchment by the light of a candle. The blonde blinked. She was wearing a bright red, heavily ornamented dress… No. Not a dress. That was a robe. And there was a staff made of red metal not too far away from her.

'Senior Enchanter Wynne.'

The woman turned to see who was addressing her. The soldier nodded to her in greeting and then proceeded with explaining why he had brought her here.

'Quite…unique. You must be hungry, you poor dear.'

She smiled weakly, but remained as stoic as she could despite her exhaustion. She felt on the brink of collapse and yet she was bustling with energy. The blonde vaguely thought of the paranoia induced adrenaline rush that she was probably experiencing right now.

Basically, there were two things she was certain of. First off, she was on another world. And second of all: She had no idea where she was, nor why she had the urge to run away as fast as she could from here. Her senses were so high-wired from the stress that she could see just from the woman's glance that she was showing how terrified she truly is.

'Um…I can go without food for a day or two more, but I some water right away would be nice.' Wynne raised an eyebrow at that statement. The girl bit her lower lip nervously. Basically what she said was true. That didn't mean that she did not want food right now or anything. And a lovely hot bath as well. 'I mean that my state of health is unsatisfactory but manageable and that I don't have any serious injuries. I have rope burns and several infected blisters on my wrists and ankles. My back is feeling a bit stiff, but that's from being tied down for three or so days with little to no movement. My heart rate and blood pressure are higher than normal but that's due to the stress and dehydration, which is why I want water so badly…um. I think I have Athlete's foot symptoms on my left foot and there is also this bruise I have here on my temple…but other than that I do not have any complaints or other symptoms or anything!'

The silver-haired woman blinked in surprise. The girl before her seemed sophisticated. Probably a merchant's daughter or perhaps even a bard that had taken an unfortunate wrong turn.

'Very well. Let me see what I can do for you then.'

The following hour and a half were filled with explaining intimate details about the mechanics of healing magics. The sheer child-like awe and fascination with magic that the girl, now identified as one Fiona Johnson, was such a rare occurrence. And indeed, before her stood a very sophisticated young woman. Wynne was certain that if it would come to a point where she had to earn her keep somehow in Ostagar, then helping her out with the injured would be quite satisfactory. The girl's evaluation of her own state had been quite accurate. Her eyes shined with rarely seen brilliance and her curiosity seemed never-ending. Finally, she was done evaluating and healing her and now she was soaking in magically warmed water, washing the mud and grime from her ordeal with zealous diligence.

After the thorough bath Wynne helped her dry her hair. Towel drying left it styled in its most natural state- long, heavy loose curls of shiny, soft sunny blonde hair. She was tall, curvy and had some muscle to herself. She stood tall and confident. The woman possessed an air of leadership about her, and youthful mischievousness and zeal. Coupled with her never-ending curiosity, it was easy to mistake her for a bard.

But alas, the girl was probably not a bard. Her strange clothing, along with her utter lack of knowledge as to anything Thedas related were alarming. The girl's confusion and alarm were genuine as she tried to blend in. In the end Wynne felt the need to help her out, if only for the fact that she might've crossed from another realm…

Shivers went down the old womans' spine. Back in the Circle's library there had been books on the subject. She had stumbled on one such book in her youth and she her suspicious were confirmed when she had simply asked from which world she hailed from.

'Earth.' She had said in a hushed voice. 'It's not the same. We don't have Thedas there.' She desperation and the need for secrecy tugged at the old woman's heart.

'How did you end up here, child?'

'I just woke up in the middle of these swamplands.'

'Your secret is safe with me but you must come with me to the Circle at the first opportunity. It isn't safe for you without the knowledge of where you are. Templars might take you for a demon, as they often do with strange and uncommon things. And there might be a way to help you go back to your realm.'

For a few moments she had remained completely silent. This Wynne, a kind old lady but a complete stranger, had figured out her situation in a matter of several hours of simply observing her. It was a really delicate situation and her paranoia was calling out again, to silence the woman just in case _they _found out about her. And _they _weren't anyone in particular, but rather the current enemy of her fancy. She tried to calm herself again. She had to be rational. Somehow all of this was very vaguely familiar but she couldn't put a finger on it. Wynne was watching her, concern edged on her face.

Fia sighed. She tugged a stray lock behind her ear and then looked at Wynne with a grave, but grateful expression on her face. Though it was hard for her to accept it as an idea, she had decided to trust this complete stranger, an outsider to her personal life, in order to receive some help.

Trusting had always been a great issue of hers. She had a handful of people she could proudly declare as friends. People she would die for and vice versa. But among them only one or two would be even more intimately aware of her inner workings and thoughts. Those were MJ and Leopold. MJ was her English friend she had met years ago – 12 years ago to be exact. She was 21 now. And the two of them had been through thick and thin, good or bad for all that time. No one knew her as well and she did and no one accepted her the way she did. It was nice to say that she had a Best Friend Forever. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy and wanted. Then, there was Leopold. Her eternal rival and fellow genius. The boy that ditched education at one of the best schools for gifted children in Europe in order to be with her in her ordinary high school. The two of them were prodigies. But she had ambitions that needed secrecy among other things. She had decided long ago to keep a low profile in order to be as inconspicuous as possible. The paranoia had come around the time she was 4 years old. Her mother had taken her to many specialist. Nothing was wrong with her little girl. Maybe if she had taken the care to at least let her child watch tele tubies and probably not CNN and National Geographic since she was born, things would've been different.

Anyways. There he was, her rival and also confidant and accomplice, Leopold Rosario Logan, the boy next door. Red head, aristocratic and arrogant. He was cool, calm and collected. And he looked out for her when no one else would and MJ would be too far away to do anything.

Then there was her cousin, Hatorri, who was of Half-Asian lineage and his mom had named him after a personal favorite character of hers. He was tall, handsome, charming, good-natured, a gentleman and a good and loyal friend. And he was her cousin. She would spend hours playing American football or simply fooling around with him, while satisfying all her tomboyish needs.

Another intriguing friend of hers was the red headed 5th generation American lawyer with Italian descent, Rose Romano. She was a person she looked up to for a lot of things. Mostly legal loopholes. But also her ability to assess situations with level-headedness and rationality, rarely seen for someone her age. She was also a loyal and friendly person, and despite her profession, she was quite the morale upholder.

And then there was Tifa, the ex-soldier, and now a military brat mom. She had the cutest little devil angel ever. It was a 2 year old little girl and she and Ben, her husband (and also military himself) were probably the most diligent parents she knew of. She had baby-sat the little squirt several times, along with several other cute brats, a little Tifa girl that was now 9 years old and her little brother, a 7 year old Vincent. Those little buggers made her want have little buggers of her own. Her mother had called it the bio-clock's magic. She was probably right, considering the fact that her criteria for men worthy of her attention had changed from their tallness, broadness and the length of their… ahem… shafts, to tallness, broadness, length of their shafts _and _being good with children or family oriented.

Her mother had told her that the most likely candidate for her was Leopold. But despite how much she wondered whether it would work out or not, his friendship and support was too special to botch up with a possibly failing romantic pursuit. She just knew him and herself too well. It was best not to be.

But back to reality.

'Thank you.' She finally said, glancing at Wynne and then looking back at her hands that were folded in her lap.

'It is no trouble, child. But right now I believe the King is waiting for you. I think he is expecting to hear your story. I would only ask you to tell him that you hit your head.'

'That's usually a good idea. A cracked skull or a simple head bump can be used as an excuse for many, many…oh…um. I mean, that is a good idea. Thank you again, Wynne.'

The old woman shook her head, slightly smiling at the girl's strange antics.

_**A/N: I was playing Dragon Age again and decided to post a DA:O based fan fiction. I think that Fiona would cause quite a stir up in such an environment where things are so alike and yet different. That and I totally want to have my chance on trying out the 'Victory at Ostagar' concept, which had been nagging me for quite some time. That being said, I would like to say that the fan fic of the same name is what inspired me to post this at fanfiction. I did somewhat proper research and now I'm reading the two books to get a bit more insight here and there. I'm hoping my efforts will be appreciated, considering this isn't going to be a game rehash, but rather a dimensional traveler, whose only information on the game are from her cousin's mentions of it, which are few and far in between. But enough spoilers. Please Read and Review. I hope this would be up to your expectations.**_


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